


Justifying the Attire

by feyfallen



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Blood and Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyfallen/pseuds/feyfallen
Summary: Recent attempts on the sitting president's life has Rufus wondering if his suit is up to standard. Needless to say, his manner of testing out this upgrade in attire is a little unconventional.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	Justifying the Attire

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: this stems from a discussion of Rufus’s outfit in FF7R and how in Gaia's name the man could possibly justify such attire. 
> 
> Thank you to Turkborne and Thrasirshall for putting up with my "what if he did it because...?" discussions and reading through my nonsense.

Vice President Rufus Shinra sat calmly across from, arguably, the most dangerous men in the living world. Two Turks and their Director, a setting that would be greatly intimidating, actually put the young man at ease. So much so that he had allowed himself to drink, much to the Director’s disdain. 

“You have a mission proposal for us, Sir?” Tseng asked stoically, though his distaste of Rufus drinking alcohol was evident to the trained ear. Rufus swirled the glass of amber liquid and set it on the desk as he nodded. 

“Yes. And it is something I only trust of you three, given the...current political climate,” Rufus said with flatly. The three Turks across from him nodded solemnly. He folded his hands neatly in his lap. “How up to date is my kidnap training?” 

Rude looked at him skeptically, Reno snorted. 

“Vice Bossman, you know that as well as us,” Reno said before Tseng could rattle off the specifics. And he was right. Rufus knew down to the minute when the last training had occurred. He was curious to know if they were paying attention as he was. “Yer up to date as ever. If this is about that, yer wastin’-” 

“Reno.” Tseng’s curt voice and Rufus’s icy one had the red head quiet. For now. Rude adjusted his tie. 

“I have developed a new....technology, let’s call it. I would like to test it in the field, but reliable kidnappers are hard to find,” Rufus began. Reno barked a laugh. 

“You want us to stage a kidnapping so you can ruin someone’s day with a toy? I’m out,” Reno said, standing. Rufus ignored him, and the smile that threatened to creep onto Rude’s face. Tseng was not amused. 

“No, Reno. I want _you three_ to kidnap me,” he said flatly. That stopped the redhead and wiped the threatening smile from Rude’s face. They were interested now. Tseng’s frown deepened. Rufus continued. 

“You three are the only...reliable source of testing for this invention. After all, any hired hand would balk at truly kidnapping and harming me, and those eager are, how should I say it?” 

“Unsavory,” Rude stated. Rufus nodded with dark smile. 

“Yes. And given what I would like you to do, or attempt to do, I at least know you three are relatively clean.” Now Reno was leaning forward. Tseng folded his arms. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Reno snapped. Rufus ignored the comment for now. 

“The technology in question is a suit. In reviewing the last attempt on the current president’s life, that failed kidnapping and assassination-” 

“Oh darn...” 

“-I could not help but notice how...fragile the president’s suit seemed to be. In fact, it seemed to tear in places when grabbed. While that may be beneficial for him, a man of... larger stature, I cannot help but think that is detrimental to me, especially in a hostile or interrogation situation. After all, I have heard Tseng say many times that our suits are our first lines of defense, and mine does not hold up to that standard.” 

“A _Turk’s_ suit, Sir. You are not a Turk. Your job, currently, is to be the face of ShinRa for the public eye.” Tseng cut him off. Rufus smiled. 

“But I will lead you some day.” Reno, Rude, and Tseng nodded to this statement. “And while yes, I must present myself accordingly to blind the eye of the public from the president’s antics with my appearance, wit, and charm-” Another snort from Reno “-I feel this suit must also be _my_ first line of defense.” 

“If you want us to test out a suit, we’ll just drag you to the firing range and shoot ya. I’ll even be nice and aim for the stomach,” Reno cackled. Rufus tapped his desk, annoyed. The redhead fell silent. 

“I do not want to test it for ballistics resilience. I have already perfected that,” Rufus said. “No, there is something more close-combat I want you to assess with me.” 

“He has way too much free time,” Rude muttered to Reno. 

“House arrest does that,” Reno muttered back. 

“I want you to see if you can remove my suit. Say, in the case of an assault situation, or coercive kidnapping-” 

“You want us to rape you, sir,” Tseng stated. Tseng was not amused by this proposal. Rufus held up a hand. 

“No. I want you to _attempt_ to rape me. Though, if it is incentive to try harder and be more thorough, to the victor goes the spoils. Let this be my consent, here and now. Winner has fun,” Rufus said, leaning back in his chair. Reno and Rude exchanged glances. Tseng shook his head but did not speak. He understood. 

“I am the face of ShinRa. I need to be prepared for anything. Kidnappers are becoming more rash, unpredictable. If they think they can break me through assault, torture, rape, drugs, I need to be prepared for it. And if they cannot tear, burn, remove, cut, or rip my suit off of me-” 

“-they cannot harm you the way they intent to,” Tseng finished, nodding. “They will not break you if we fail to protect you first and foremost.” 

“Which we won’t,” Reno added. 

“This is just....worst case scenario,” Rude finished. Rufus nodded. 

“Are you three on board for specifics? Or shall I dismiss you and we pretend this meeting never occurred?” Rufus asked, returning to his drink. Rude and Reno looked at Tseng. He nodded. 

“What do you have in mind, Sir?” 

“No holds barred. You pull out anything and everything you would try for our most challenging of clients.” 

Reno grinned. 

“Burn me, cut me, bind me, drug me, do your worst. Your goal is to see if you can remove my suit in a hostage situation set up to your choosing. I need to assess if my suit holds up long enough for a rescue.” 

“What is our timeframe, Sir?” Rude asked. 

“How long do you think it would take to rescue me?” Rufus replied. The three nodded in understanding. “I will not willingly help you with anything about my attire once the scenario begins. Nor will I divulge specifics beforehand. If you can find my designs and research before you kidnap me, let that be considered a perk for you.” 

Reno cracked his knuckles. “So, when do we start?” 

“As soon as you leave this room,” Rufus told calmly, “I will be wearing the suit in question starting tomorrow. I expect your worst.” 

“We will do our best, Sir.” 

Rufus raised his glass. 

“To the victor goes the spoils.” 

\--- 

Rufus’s free hand tapped the desk as he read his budget report. It was almost dinner time for most respectable people, but he still had a stack of work to do. He would most likely be taking this home tonight, if he went home at all. He set his report down and stood to stretch. 

It had been three weeks since his discussion with the Turks. As much as he figured they would strike early to get the task done, he now realized better. They were preparing or on missions, Rufus assumed. It was hard to keep tabs on them when they were in Midgar and he was station on an “extended vacation” in Junon. Harder still since Reno had caught him hacking. Again. 

He knew the rotation well enough. Tseng was almost always in Midgar, but Reno and Rude frequently replaced his SOLDIER guards as his escorts and protectors from office to apartment and back. Given his current “vacation,” he wasn’t even allowed to drive himself, though he had gotten Rude to let him on the chance occasion so he wouldn’t get rusty. 

Rufus sighed and gathered the necessary materials into his attaché case, deciding he would go home tonight. He hadn’t been back to his apartment in a few days due to busy season, and while he was far from done, even he knew when he needed a change of scenery. Reluctantly, he powered down his machines and grabbed the case, heading for the office door. 

“I am ready to leave now, so please alert whoever is transporting me this evening,” he directed to whoever was outside his office as he locked his door. His secretary had long since gone home so he was amused to hear her chair squeak followed by- 

“’Bout damn time. You are as entertaining as a dead cat,” complained Reno. 

“Good evening, Reno,” Rufus said politely. 

“Evening bossman. Fuck up at the reactor, all SOLDIER on deck,” Reno responded. Rufus nodded and handed the redhead his office key, which was promptly pocketed. They walked down the hall and Rufus called the elevator. Already the complex was dark and empty. Rufus sighed; he needed to stop making this a normal occurrence. “Let’s get prince charming back to his lofty castle.”   
  
“Keep calling me that and I will shoot you,” Rufus stated as the elevator arrived. 

“Not if I shoot ya first,” Reno retorted. Rufus rose a brow and turned to face Reno, a snide remark on his tongue. It fell dead when he saw Reno was holding a gun, pointed at him. A small pistol, low caliber, one shot. Rufus started to go for his own when the muzzle flashed, bullet striking him square in the left shoulder. He staggered back, colliding with the back wall of the elevator. Quickly, he kicked the emergency seal button, aiming to put a barrier between the Turk and himself. Reno was reloading, a crazed smile on his face as he brought the gun up again in time for the first of the two doors to slide shut. 

“Damn, you weren’t kidding. That shit is bullet proof,” Reno called, holstering the gun. “Didn’t think it would be at close range, but damn kid. You did good there.” Rufus found himself rubbing his shoulder, shards of shattered metal dropping from the indent in his shoulder. The bullet had hit its mark, the fleshy bit of muscle not connected to bone but other than a significant bruise, no damage was done. Reno gave him the finger as the second door fell shut. 

“See you on the ground floor, bossman!” 

“Yeah, right,” Rufus spat, looking around at his options as the craft began its decent. He had been surprised at Reno’s brash antics, expecting something more subtle to instigate what they had discussed but then again, maybe that was what they were going for. Rufus cracked his knuckles and hit the emergency reset button as the craft passed floor 20. The machine’s gears grinded to a halt. Reno was fast, faster when he had gravity on his side and he could hop landings. He was not going to let the redhead hold the advantage, especially since he had a feeling a certain Director and bald Turk were waiting down below. Rufus smashed the button for the floor below roof access and leaned back, looking up at the fire escape. He would climb through there, hit the roof and then take the back access down two floors. He just needed to get to the barracks. 

Scaling up the side wall and bracing himself on the railing of the elevator with trained ease, he began to unscrew the latch as the craft began to move again. He waited, counting down in his head. He would have about 30 seconds once the craft opened on the floor to get to the elevator top, hook onto the ladder, and climb up to the roof service door before the elevator began to move again. He contemplated hitting a lower floor with his foot on his way out to ensure the craft went down and not up. On his mark, he released the lever and moved aside to let the service hatch drop. 

That was when he heard the hiss of pneumatics and saw the secondary latch. There wasn’t supposed to be a secondary latch. Rufus squinted at the metal panel before dropping down and moving quickly to the far corner of the elevator. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He retrieved it, and his gun, as he watched floors ascend. He punched the emergency reset again. It didn’t work. Rufus looked at his phone, still buzzing. 

Tseng was calling. Rufus answered, hitting the emergency reset again. Still nothing, the craft kept going up. 

_“I am proud of you for taking training seriously, Sir,”_ Tseng’s voice cut through the phone, “ _thank you for remembering to try and exit the craft rather than wait for reinforcements or ride to the bottom.”_ Rufus rolled his eyes, flipping off the cameras he knew Tseng was watching. Tseng responded with a laugh. The lights seemed to dim. 

“However, I shouldn’t be surprised that the Turks were one step ahead of me and now I must prepare to fight.” 

_“No Sir. It was a valiant attempt to escape and we will be using the footage up to the discovery of the second hatch in future training videos.”_ Rufus checked his gun and punched the emergency reset again, harder. The lights dimmed more. “ _We won’t show the gas, of course. No need to incite panic.”_

Rufus’s head jerked up and he peered into the dark space of the escape hatch, tucking his nose and mouth down into his jacket. He thought he heard Tseng laugh but he had tossed the phone away to cover any airways. The hissing he had heard, he realized, had been a pressure release. The dimming lights.... 

“Fuck,” Rufus cursed, realizing now he had already inhaled a face full of gas. He dropped his hands away from his face and slid against the wall, down to the ground. The lights weren’t dimming, he was losing consciousness. He banged the back of his head against the elevator wall a few times in frustration before he became too numb to even do that. His eyes drooped. The craft shuddered and came to a halt 5 floors south of his original point of interest. The doors slid open and three Turks in gas masks greeted him. Reno swooped in and stooped to his level, checking his pulse. Rufus tried to push him away, but his arms didn’t respond. Tseng caught the movement none-the-less. 

“Do not struggle, sir,” he said calmly, though it was distorted by the mask, “a nerve agent. You are temporarily paralyzed.” 

“And soon to be out like sleeping beauty,” Reno added, pulling a clear syringe from his suit jacket. He tapped the tip teasingly against Rufus’s nose. “After all, the face of ShinRa needs his beauty sleep.” 

Rufus grit his teeth as Tseng and Rude rolled their eyes at Reno’s comment, watching as Reno started to pull up his sleeve to find a vein. He pulled up passed the wrist and stopped. Reno furrowed his brow, surprised to find resistance. He tugged again, but the undershirt didn’t budge. Reno scowled. 

“Da fuck?” Reno spat, confused. Tseng pushed him aside. 

“We don’t have time for this, Reno,” Tseng scolded, taking the syringe from the other. “If you cannot find a vein in his wrist, use his neck.” Tseng emphasized this by grabbing Rufus by his neck and slamming him back against the wall. Rufus’s head span. 

“Don’t get him hard, boss. You know he likes it rough,” taunted Reno, mostly to help his wounded pride from being scolded. Tseng ignored him and tugged on Rufus’s turtleneck, readying the syringe. And then he stopped. He tugged again. The shirt collar didn’t move. Tseng sat back. Rufus smiled. 

“Obnoxious,” Tseng muttered, breaking off the seal of the syringe. He gripped Rufus’s chin and forced his mouth open, jamming the vial into Rufus’s mouth. “Drink up.” Rufus gagged immediately and tried to spit the liquid out but Reno and Rude quickly pinned him down. Tseng held his mouth shut. The haze settled in soon after, followed by darkness. Only when he stopped twitching completely did the Turks release him. Rude looked from Reno to Tseng before gingerly picking the unconscious man up in his arms. 

“Well,” the bald Turk said, “round one to him.” 

\---- 

He awoke laying down, on a mattress he speculated given the relative softness. His hands were tied above his head, his legs strapped down. He was blindfolded but not gagged, most likely to keep him from recoiling or flinching due to visual stimulus. He sighed and tried twisting his wrists to loosen them. No dice; Rude must have done the knots. That was the only Turk he hadn’t been able to undo the knots of yet. He felt lighter, a chill. His blazer was gone, his boots missing, as was a belt and the attached gun holster that he wore mostly over his blazer, from what he could feel. Nothing else. He sighed. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty~” 

The sigh became a groan. Reno’s voice was too loud to wake too. He turned his head to follow the sound of someone approaching. Reno sat down next to him, from what he perceived. Something sloshed. 

“Straw coming your way,” Reno said smoothly. Something plastic touched his lips and Rufus sucked. Water flooded his system and soothed the irritation from the drug haze. He drank his fill and sank back, waiting until the water was set down to speak. 

“I thought I told you to do your worst, not coddle me,” Rufus commented. He grunted as he was punched in the stomach. Reno snorted. 

“We gotta strip ya, not kill ya,” Reno said, standing. “Though, if I can get a little frustration out on a punching bag, you won’t hear me complain.” There was a moment’s pause and then Rufus felt something lighter hit his chest. Not enough to hurt or do any damage, but he could feel whatever it was running down his chest to his side. 

“Water resistant too? Must be a pain in the ass to dry clean,” Reno mused as Rufus listened to his footsteps retreat. Silence followed, allowing Rufus to settle into his uncomfortable environment. Every so often, he would try the knots, or he would rotate his ankles to try and loosen the bonds on his feet. He didn’t know how long it was until he heard another sound but when he did, he jumped slightly, having been concentrating elsewhere, earning a hand to his throat to still him. 

His ‘assailant’ did not talk like Reno had earlier. Rufus tried to figure out if it was still Reno or one of the others. There was no way for him to tell; he didn’t smell anything distinct and the hand made sure to grip him at his collar, so the distinctive touch was lost to fabric. He held still, listening. Something else pressed against his collar, thin and cold. Rufus speculated it was a knife. He felt the blade move, press against the fabric of his turtleneck and down, rotating from the blade to the point. Rufus felt the tip drag down his collar, passed his shoulder blades and in toward his clavicle. It stopped and drew away. He heard a hum of amusement, soft retreating footsteps, and then nothing. Rufus shifted, feeling the fabric settle. It hadn’t cut. He smiled. 

\--- 

Rude waited until the door had slid shut before talking. He held out the military grade knife to Reno. 

“Nope,” he said with a shrug. 

“Fuck. Didn’t work on either pair of pants or belts either?” Reno asked. 

“Nope. Didn’t even fucking notice me trying. Too busy trying to get his wrists free,” Rude replied. 

“Shit man. Guess I can’t make fun of him for the layers now. Seriously, who the fuck wears two pair of pants?” 

“Our vice president,” Tseng responded, looking through the one-way glass. His arms were folded in thought. Knives hadn’t worked, nor had tearing, burning, pulling, or manipulating. It was as though Rufus was wearing his own personal puzzle box. The Turks had made quick work of the blazer and holster; other than reinforced, lightweight Kevlar and burn resistant material, there hadn’t been anything unique. Shoes were standard issue, reinforced in the toe, high quality leather. Untied and slipped off. But Rufus’s pants, three remaining belts, waistcoat, turtleneck, gloves, and socks remained. From what Tseng had observed while the vice president was still asleep, it appeared each layer was assembled to cover at least one access point. While the waistcoat had buttons, it also had a reinforced zipper that looped to a belt by a hidden latch. Without the belt off, the zipper could not go up. The first pair of pants, while appearing mostly for show, blocked access to the second, as well as the turtleneck and Rufus’s socks. Gloves appeared to hook to a mechanism on the forearm, under the sleeves. Turtleneck was under the waistcoat and tucked into the second pair of pants by a different belt, inaccessible unless first the waistcoat was removed. Which required the first belt, and so on. Tseng had different routes and accesses, arguably manhandling the man while he had slept. When that hadn’t worked, they had each tried different knives, spells, and sharps of different types, most recently with Rude’s attempt. The suit was certainly more scuffed up, but it wasn’t budging in places they thought it would. Tseng sighed in frustration. 

“Must be a nightmare for him to take a piss,” Reno snorted, leaning against the wall as they thought of another plan of attack. “How’s bout we douse him in Kerosene. It’s liquid resistant but with enough-” 

“We are not lighting him on fire, Reno,” Tseng cut him off. “We just have to try harder.” He looked at his watch. Three hours since Rufus had regained consciousness, eight total since they had first started this ‘project.’ They were running out of time. Typical Turk-led rescue missions never went longer than twelve hours. 

“Let’s say SOLDIER is rescuing him, not us,” Rude said, having been looking at his own watch, “that gives us at least another day...” 

“We won’t need it,” Reno said with a dark smirk. “If we can’t get it off, we’ll have him take it off for us.” Tseng rose a brow. 

“Reno, we are not going to-” 

“He said treat him like our most challenging, and yeah, we have, but he was asleep. Now he’s awake. He is on ‘vacation’ anyway. He’ll sleep it off if it doesn’t work,” Reno cut Tseng off. The director shook his head. 

“A low dose, Reno.” 

“Yeah, yeah, not enough to kill him, enough to make him have a psychotic break, I got it, I got it,” Reno said, waving his hand in the air as he walked down the hall to get the concoction in question. “Ya got the antidote anyway, so just play knight in shining armor if it gets too bad.” 

“I’m amused you think I will save him,” Tseng commented. Rude laughed, looking back at the man on the bed, who was once again struggling with his wrist restraints. 

“I’ll be impressed if you don’t.” 

\---- 

Rufus gave up on the wrist restraints. They weren’t budging, and while they were over his sleeves, it hurt enough for him to think it was better to stop than keep trying. He ground his teeth in frustration. Sure, he had expected them to struggle with his suit, he just hadn’t expected himself to struggle with his own ties. He had gotten out of many before, Turk and kidnapper alike. It frustrated him to no end that he was _still_ tied to this damn bed, let alone blindfolded. He decided to rest and mentally prepare for whatever came next. 

He didn’t have to wait long. The metal door swung open and he heard three sets of footsteps were now heard. This worried him; what could they be doing that required all three of them? 

He didn’t get much time to think on it. One of them moved faster than the others and soon Rufus quickly realized that person was now sitting on his chest. This Turk put his full weight on him, making it hard to breathe. Rufus grit his teeth as two sharp hands lashed out, one at his chin, the other on his forehead, jerking his head up and back. Another set of hands were at his wrists, holding them down and pinned as the third set released Rufus’s hands. Free of the rope but not the guard, Rufus tried to twist out of the grip. It earned him a silent but painful jab to the diaphragm. He gasped through his teeth but kept his mouth firmly closed. 

“Open up, and we will reward you,” Tseng’s voice, warm like rich honey, cut through the darkness and the weight shifted on his chest. Rufus wanted to believe him but knew better. Instead, he spat at whoever was sitting on him. The person holding his chin punched him in the jaw before returning his vice grip. “Now, now. I taught you better than to spit. You are a gentleman after all.” 

Rufus sneered. He heard someone snort and the sound of something similar to a small container opening. 

“Open your mouth, now,” Tseng demanded, voice sterner. Rufus couldn’t help himself. 

“Or what?” he jeered. He instantly wished he hadn’t. The hands at his wrists and head didn’t move. The third pair, however, had, and in rapid succession, he was struck with a blow to the stomach, a jab to the lungs, and an extremely painful grapple of his crotch. Before he could even stop himself, he gasped enough for the person on his chest to grip his jaw and painfully force it open. He gagged and tried to bite down but quickly there was a vial between his teeth. He choked as liquid bubbled down his throat, passed his lips, and down his chin. The vial was removed just as quickly and the hands on his face moved. They forced his mouth shut and head back again, forcing the burning liquid down. Rufus’s eyes watered behind the blindfold, a muffled scream escaping him before he could re-align. The hands on his face moved again, released him, and Rufus had a moment to gasp for air before they were around his neck. He gagged again, the air pushed from him by the weight on his chest. He clawed at whoever was holding his wrists. 

And then he stilled, on the cusp of darkness, lungs screaming for air. The hands waited a long moment before all at once, they were gone. Footsteps retreated quickly and the door sealed. Rufus coughed and curled down on himself, only bound by his ankles now. He quickly tore off the blindfold and managed with shaking hands to untie his feet. He leaned over the bed and jammed his fingers down his throat, trying to make himself vomit up whatever they had forced into him. It didn’t work, at least, not in time. He dry-heaved but nothing came up but spit. Panting, he forced himself to sit up, to breathe deep. To focus and calm down. He needed to think. He needed a clear head to analyze what had just happened. To understand why they had let him untie himself. With shaking breaths, he stared at the white wall in front of him, swallowing the taste of sandpaper. And that was when he noticed it. 

His entire body had started to burn. 

\--- 

It had started like the Turks had expected give Rufus’s training. Initial panic once they left, Rufus tried to make himself sick, which made Tseng proud that he had remembered what he had been taught. Then he had calmed down and sat on the edge of the bed, stick straight, eyes focused on the wall. On them. He began breathing exercises to regulate, but then after a minute, that had faltered. The toxins had kicked in. 

Reno, Rude, and Tseng watched quietly on the other side of the door. The red-head Turk’s eyes never left the convulsing form on the tile floor in the other room. In Reno’s hands, he tossed a vial of blue liquid back and forth, the antidote to a special Turk concoction that they had just forced into Rufus’s system. Reno had used it a few times before during interrogations; the mix of adrenaline, hallucinogenics, as well as some other secret toxins. A beautiful mix of chemicals that induced hellish images and extreme pain, it always had their target begging for mercy within five minutes. 

Rufus was now pushing twenty. 

“I don’t think this is working, boss,” Reno said, finally breaking the silence. “Not like it should....” 

“Go play knight in shining armor then,” Tseng responded, watching as Rufus began to claw at his chest. “After all, he consented. He explicitly ordered us to do our worst.” 

The walls were soundproof, but they all knew the man on the other side was screaming bloody murder, no doubt in agony and panic from whatever hallucinated nightmare he was fighting. Rude shifted uncomfortably as the silence fell between them. 

Twenty minutes pushed into thirty. Rufus’s eyes had rolled back into his head and he was pulling at the collar of his turtleneck, drool, mucus, and other bile dripping from his mouth, eyes, and nose. 

“Just fucking throw a glove or something,” Reno shouted, slamming his fist against the glass as though Rufus could hear him. “Just give up!” Tseng was tense but silent, eyes watching, analyzing, learning. 

“He can suffer a little longer,” Tseng commented. Reno and Rude looked at him in shock. “He is fine.” 

Forty-five minutes proved to be enough but not because of the suit. 

“To hell with both of you,” Rude suddenly had said. Shoving passed both Reno and Tseng, he had stolen the vial and rushed the room. He wrestled Rufus down and fed him the antidote before pulling the convulsing man into his arms, holding him in a tight, protective hold while the antidote went into effect. Rufus’s nose was bloody, his lips cut, his face scratched. He was drenched in sweat and trembling. But the suit? 

Not even a blood stain. 

\--- 

After Rude had administered the antidote, Rufus had been cognitively aware enough to point Tseng to his schematics of his suit before falling catatonic. With the guide in hand, the puzzle box of an outfit was easily dismembered, Rufus had been bathed, dressed in light sleepwear, and rushed to the infirmary. 

It was two days later that they debriefed, after Rufus had awoken and begun to recover. They met in Rufus’s apartment this time. Rufus was on bedrest, ordered by the prestigious Doctor Hojo himself, due to a fractured wrist, cracked collarbone, and three cracked ribs. He was watching the news when they had appeared silently in his doorway. The tabloids were calling it a failed attempt on the vice president’s life. Major news sources claimed Rufus was vacationing in Costa Del Sol with a possible girlfriend. Rufus had found both ridiculous. 

Tseng was the first to approach him, a glass of water with a straw in hand. He helped the vice president sit up comfortably and had him drink water. Only when Rufus had finished did Tseng speak. 

“We are impressed,” Tseng said. Rufus nodded, watching him quietly as Tseng checked his IV and fluids. “Though....we owe you an apology. We may have gotten carried-” 

“You did not go easy on me,” Rufus cut him off. Tseng nodded, standing up straighter. “I expected no less from the Turks. Not even against me. I am the one who should be impressed.” 

“We were just following your order, sir,” Rude said. Rufus smiled. 

“And you did so wonderfully. This will be remembered when I am president. Just as I will continue to not take you or the Investigative Sector of General Affairs lightly.” Reno shifted, rubbing his arm. 

“But we failed, bossman,” he said. Rude and Tseng nodded. Rufus shook his head. 

“No, you did not. I wanted to test my new technology. We often learn by doing,” Rufus responded. The Turks nodded. “And we learned a lot from this encounter. My suit may be up to standard now, but I am sure you can use this information further, given your jobs within the Department of Administrative Research.” 

They fell into a comfortable silence then, Rufus closing his eyes again to rest as the Turks made themselves at home in the space, fetching chairs and glasses of water. Eventually, Tseng turned off the TV and had rose to leave, Reno and Rude standing to follow suit. 

“So, who do I get to sleep with?” 

Rufus had asked this right before they left the room. Reno choked on his water he was finishing, Tseng paused mid-step and adjusted his tie, and Rude looked between the three men, brow raised. Finally, Tseng laughed and looked at his fellow Turks. 

“He is right. Who would like the honors of bedding the vice president?” Tseng asked, looking between the two other Turks. Reno and Rude quickly began to talk over each other in confusion, point fingers between themselves, Tseng, and Rufus, who was now laughing himself. 

“After all, to the victor goes the spoils.” 


End file.
